


Bonfire Hearts

by sherleigh



Category: SHINee
Genre: Multi, inspired by edits made by key-is-my-wife-k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherleigh/pseuds/sherleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do a rock star, a reigning prince, a kindergarten teacher, a commander of the king’s guard, and a struggling artist have in common?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock Star

 

**Jinki**

 

“Mr Lee? Are you awake?”

 

I am now, Jinki thinks. He doesn’t blame Kyung Li, though. If she’s waking him up before noon on the night after a concert, there must be a pretty good reason for it.

 

“Yes. What’s up?”

 

She walks to his bedside. “We just got a call from the Foreign Minister of Greater Baekje. Apparently the Prince wants you to perform at his 25th birthday party.”

 

Jinx the rockstar would have accepted the offer without thinking, because how cool would it be to invited to play for bona fide royalty? There’s not many real life princes running around anymore.

 

Or Jinx the rockstar would have refused, just for the pleasure of sticking it up to a royal brat who thinks he can snap his fingers at an ungodly hour of the morning and get everyone to do his bidding.

 

Lee Jinki asks “Are they paying us or is this one of those ‘it’ll look great on your CV!’ things? And does it clash with any of the tour dates?”

 

Kyung Li has answers. “Food and board is covered, but they’re hoping for a bit of a discount on the performance fee. I told I’d have to check with you first, but I think they’ll still want you even if you charge them top-rate. It’s three days before your London gig, so there’s plenty of time to recuperate.”

“We’ll do it, then,” Jinki decides. “Good publicity. Why are you smirking?”

 

Kyung Li shakes her head. “I told them you’d take it already. In the time I’ve worked for you, you’ve only turned down one gig.”

 

There was a time, long ago, when he was a struggling musician who didn’t even have enough spare change to buy a cup of coffee. He’d hitchhiked from city to city, playing at clubs and bars and street corners, hoping for nothing more than to have enough money for a meal at the end of the day. Kyung Li – indeed, none of his staff – know about his past, so they can’t understand why Jinki finds it difficult to close the door on work and revenue.

 

“Give them a 20% discount on fees as well. It’s not everyday we get to attend a royal birthday party.”

 

“Do you want me to call to them now?” Kyung Li steps closer to his bed, and Jinki finally sees that instead of the dress he assumed she was wearing under her blazer, she’s only wearing a silk slip. She must have been in bed too when the call came.

 

It’s then that Jinki becomes aware of the morning wood he’d woken up with; it had been slowly wilting but confronted with an attractive woman in lingerie, it reawakens.

 

“Well, I can think of a couple of other things that need seeing to first,” he replies, straightening his sheets so that she can see the outline of his erection under it.

 

“I’ll see to that immediately, sir,” she says, removing her blazer and folding it neatly over his desk before climbing into bed with him.

 

She sits on his hips, presses her hands against his pecs and lets her long hair fall into her face.

 

“Mmm, Jinx, do you know how wet your voice makes me?”

 

“Remind me, pussycat.”

 

“Yesterday after you sang I Wanna Rock, I went to the ladies’ room and touched myself.”

 

“Fuck.” Jinki closes his eyes and imagines her, crouched over the toilet in a dirty and cramped stall, a line outside, furiously masturbating to the sound of his voice.

 

“Sometimes I wish you could fuck me onstage.”

 

Jinki hadn’t been thrilled when his brother insisted that he hire a live-in PA, but it’s been six months since Jinki hired Kyung Li and two months since Jinx and her started fucking, and neither Jinki nor Jinx has regretted the decision for a single instant.

 

“You’ll come to Baekje with me right?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about onstage, but how would you like to be fucked in a castle?”


	2. Prince

 

 

 

**Minho**

 

“The party is tonight, I can’t cancel it now! And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

 

“Do you have any idea what a monumentally bad decision this was?” Kibum is yelling, again. It seems that all Kibum does is yell at him these days. “The peasants are on the edge of revolt and you’re basically throwing open the doors of your brand new palace – which, might I remind you, was built while the country was suffering through the worst case of drought and crop failure in decades – and inviting them in?”

 

“It wasn’t my decision.” Had it been up to him, Minho would never chosen to build a new castle. His father, in his twilight years, had become more and more concerned with have an architectural legacy than with ruling and his older brother – Crown Prince Minsuk – had allowed the old man to spiral into insanity in the hopes of overthrowing him. And then that freak hunting accident happened.

 

King Yun-Gyum never got to see his completed castle.

 

Crown Prince Minsuk died a mere prince.

 

And Minho, who up to that point had been a carefree Prince, suddenly found himself in charge of a country falling apart at the seams.

 

“They don’t care, Minho.” Kibum is his closest ally – a friend from childhood who is now the commander of the King’s Guard – and his most trusted advisor. “All they’re going to see is a spoiled princeling feasting on plentiful food when they basically on rations at this point.”

 

“That’s why I invited the people,” Minho tries to explain. He feels bad for his father’s misrule, and this party is meant to be a small apology gift to the people. Yes, they’re struggling; let them forget their struggles for one night and feast and sing and dance.

 

Kibum sighs. “Fine, but do you really have to be milling about the whole time?”

 

“It’s my party, how can I not show up?”

 

“It’s not safe.”

 

“I leave my safety in your very capable hands,” Minho replies, grimacing internally at the anger that flashes across Kibum’s face. He knows things that Kibum won’t tell him – not because Kibum is hoarding information, but because he doesn’t want Minho to worry – like the news about an underground movement pushing for a republican state. Minho knows they’re behind some of the vandalism done to the old palace – where his mother and grandparents still live – and to various statues of the older kings in the town square. He’s not very worried though; they haven’t been violent towards any people and they haven’t shown their faces yet.

 

And as much as Kibum worries about him, Minho is capable of looking after himself.

 

Kibum stomps out of the throne room and slams the door behind him. The guards standing on the inside grimace at the loud bang that echoes through the high-ceilinged room.

 

As the late afternoon light shines through the stained-glass windows – windows which had cost a fortune – Minho’s handmaidens come to dress him in his party finery; a white and maroon double-breasted jacket, the colours of Greater Baekje’s flag. It’s not a publicity stunt. Minho truly loves his country and wants to do his best as its ruler.

 

A ceremonial sword hangs at his hip, a swan-feather cape is buckled around his shoulders.

 

The people aren’t due to arrive until nightfall, when dinner will be served and the concerts wil begin, but before that, Minho will be having high tea with the various invited artists and foreign dignitaries.

 

He’s especially looking forward to meeting Jinx, his favourite rock star.


	3. Teacher

 

 

**Jonghyun**

 

“Don’t you think we’re taking things too far? The new prince-”

 

“Is not the tyrant his father became, that’s what you were going to say, right?” Oh, the faint hearts and fragile faiths of his comrades. They would rather take the chance that the new prince would be a benevolent ruler instead of undertaking the brief but necessary unpleasantness of revolt.

 

Jonghyun looks out at the sea of faces staring expectantly at him. Their underground bunker is not large, but it is packed tonight.

 

“I have nothing against Prince Minho personally,” Jonghyun says, reverting to his speech voice. “But power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. He’s not had a taste of being king yet, he hasn’t even been crowned properly. His people are starving. The country stands on the brink of bankruptcy. And what does Prince Minho decide to do? He throws a birthday party, with more food than any of us have had to eat all year. He flies in musicians using our taxes. This is your wise and just ruler?”

 

Sensing that the men are slowly coming around, Jonghyun continues. “We are civilized men. I am not here to pillage or to murder, I’m a kindergarten teacher for fuck’s sake.”

 

His sister thinks it pretentious of him to continue to – in her words – pretend to be nothing more than a kindergarten teacher when he is in fact the leader of the underground republican movement sweeping across Greater Baekje. He hasn’t yet been able to explain to her that he is, in his heart of hearts, a teacher. He loves children, loves watching their innocent minds blossom in ways adult minds can’t. He’s only a rebel out of necessity.

 

“Our revolt can be bloodless. All Prince Minho has to do is abdicate the throne. If he wants to leave the country, we won’t stop him. But things cannot go on as they are.”

 

Murmurs of agreement sound through the crowd.

 

“We strike tonight.”

 

When he arrives at the new castle, Jonghyun is enraged. Its spires stretch into the sky, as if they’re challenging God himself – not that he believes in God – and every inch of screams of decadence.

 

The entrances are heavily guarded; Jonghyun counts at least twenty armed soldiers at each gate, busy patting down arrivals and searching their bags. It reminds him of airport security. As he casually strolls around, Jonghyun tries to commit important details to memory; how many of the guards have guns, how many have swords. How strong they look, how dedicated they seem to be to their jobs. He’s hoping that most of them will flee when the rebels strike.

 

There is a knife tucked into his boot, but Jonghyun is not worried about it being discovered; the leather is thick and stiff, it won’t reveal the knife during a pat-down.

 

The man supervising the soldiers at this entrance draws Jonghyun’s attention. Unlike the other soldiers, who seem to be either in a good mood or lazily going about their searches, this man looks troubled. His body is alert, primed to respond to an attack. His uniform is slightly different from theirs, slightly more embroidered, and badges litter his chest. He turns his head, and Jonghyun sees a very prominent scar on his eyebrow.

 

It takes only a heartbeat to identify the man after that.

 

Kim Kibum, commander of the King’s Guard. He’s known for his shrewdness and his loyalty to Prince Minho; there are rumours that, despite all of the women in the land swooning over his sharp and handsome features, his preferences lie elsewhere.

 

When his eyes land on Jonghyun, they narrow, and for a moment Jonghyun wonders whether his cover has been blown. But they turn away soon enough, to be trained on the next man in line, and Jonghyun enters the castle grounds without hindrance.

 

As expected, there is food piled high on long tables set out in the gardens. Rumour has it that the Prince plans to end the night with a fireworks display.

 

A stage has been set up in a corner, and on it a band stands, tuning their instruments. Everybody knows that Prince Minho is a fan of Jinx, and that Jinx has been flown in to perform tonight. It’s a pity that Jonghyun will have to disrupt the very talented man’s performance; he’s a fan of Jinx too. Hopefully, if his men are as well-behaved as he’s exhorted them to be – he doesn’t associate with thugs, only good honest men; but even the most righteous man has a spot of darkness in his heart – the rock star will escape without being harmed.

 

The sun sets over the horizon, and lamps are lit.

 

As Jonghyun wanders around, he catches glimpses of his comrades in arms, and they nod discreetly in greeting to each other. He catches a glimpse of Kim Kibum too, this time by Prince Minho’s side.

 

Jonghyun knows then that the biggest challenge of his night will be Kim Kibum.


	4. Soldier

 

 

**Kibum**

 

“You can continue this conversation inside.”

 

“Don’t be so paranoid, Kibum-ah,” Minho says airily. He’s not paying any attention to Kibum at all, his attention fixed instead on Jinx. Jinx nods along sagely, despite knowing fuck-all about the political situation of Greater Baekje and the troubling lack of security in this open air dais that the Prince and the rock star are dining on. Well, not so much dining – they’d gorged themselves during tea – as opposed to drinking. With the way the wine has been flowing tonight, Kibum suspects that Minho had given the kitchen staff the order to empty his father’s beloved wine cellar.

 

“Can’t see the stars from inside,” Jinx says, gesturing towards the sky. Minho nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on a completely different kind of star.

 

I hope you choke, Kibum thinks. Kibum straightens his back and goes back to his duty of standing guard over Minho.

 

Their friendship is legendary among the royal court; there have been many incidents of backs-stabbing and one-upping of late, but not a single person has dared to badmouth Kibum to Minho.

 

Kibum knows what they call him behind his back; dog, shadow, slave. They’re all wrong. He’s a wolf and Minho is a mewling babe in the woods. He’s so kind, so naïve and good-natured that he cannot see evil in others, and Kibum is the embodiment of trickery and treachery. Minho needs Kibum to be his eyes and his sword; to see what he cannot and to stain his hands with blood so that Minho’s can remain spotless.

 

A tug at the sleeve of his uncomfortable dress uniform draws his attention away from his surveillance duties. “Go mingle and have fun,” Minho insists.

 

“And leave you unguarded?” Don’t send me away from your side, Kibum begs in his heart. What is a wolf without its pack?

 

“You have soldiers for that!” Minho beckons a couple of lower-ranking sergeants over. “You’re my second in command, you’re supposed to be out there partying the night away! I insist.”

 

Jinx, that godforsaken troublemaker, pipes up in support of Minho. “You seem tense, buddy. Find a girl, get laid. Works wonders for stress, believe me.” And he has the gall to wink after that.

 

“Oh ho,” Minho chuckles. “Women have no power over Kibum, no sir.”

 

Look at who’s talking, a fucking twink who can barely keep his raging hard-on for some washed up rock star in his pants, Kibum sneers mentally.

 

“Shoo,” Minho adds, flapping his hand.

 

Kibum leaves then, deciding that he will take a walk around the perimeter of the castle and keep an eye on things. A couple of people had walked past the dais several times earlier, and he wants to make sure that nobody has any intention of stirring shit up. There had been a brown-haired man with glasses who especially caught Kibum’s eye; most people only looked at Minho – what with him being the Prince – but this man’s eyes had been trained on him.

 

A surveillance sortie around the perimeter reveals exactly what Kibum feared; the older guards – what few of them are left – are taking their jobs seriously, but the younger guards are in a festive mood and their heads are all turned towards the stage. Most of them have been drinking too; Kibum can see beer bottles and wine glasses by their posts. He reprimands the first and second set of guards, but after a while he just gives up.

 

Instead, he mingles with the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired man with the angular jaw, but there’s just too many people milling about.

 

One man takes two knives from the cutlery tray at the end of the buffet table. Kibum follows him, one hand on his gun, until he gives the knife to a woman who must be his wife. Under their table is a marmalade-stained knife. She uses the knife to continue eating her marmalade crepes.

 

Kibum walks away, feeling silly.

 

Perhaps he is being paranoid.

 

A glance at the dais shows him a happy Minho, laughing together with Jinx’s entourage as the rock star waves his around around – no doubt regaling them with his escapades – and the two guards standing watch over him look vigilant enough.

 

Perhaps he can have five minutes to himself.

 

Kibum walks away from the crowded foregrounds and towards the gardens; there are fewer guests here, mostly nobles and emissaries.

 

Just as he’s about to relax, Kibum catches a glimpse of a shadow moving behind a cherry blossom tree, and his senses kick into overdrive. Nobody skulks around with good intentions.

 

He sneaks up on the person, noticing immediately that they are scribbling away in a large-ish notebook. This is exactly why he warned Minho against allowing the public inside; anyone with half a brain can map the castle out for future attacks.

 

Luckily, the person is so engrossed in their work that they don’t notice Kibum drawing his knife - guns are better over a distance, but knives make for silent killing – and stalking them until the knife is pressed against their throat.

 

“Don’t move,” Kibum purrs.

 

Up close, he realises that the person is a boy; his flat chest and adam’s apple make it clear. Nonetheless, he is slight of frame and rather feminine in appearance.

 

The notebook falls to the ground.

 

“I’m going to pick that up,” Kibum says. “If you try to run, I’ll stab you in the back. In the extremely unlikely event that you manage to evade that, I have a gun. I’m a very good shot. Are we clear?”

 

The boy nods.

 

The notebook is full of drawings, but not of the sort Kibum expected. Instead of maps, there are sketches of the castle’s spires against the sky. There is one of a gaggle of girls, their swishy multi-coloured skirts painstakingly rendered onto paper. There is another of the banyan tree, the tallest tree on the grounds that, according to legend, has existed longer than the kingdom.

 

Kibum holds back a gasp when he lands on a drawing of himself. Minho and Jinx are shaded in as silhouettes but his features are drawn in bold lines.

 

When he looks up, the boy’s plump cheeks are red.

 

Again, Kibum feels silly for getting so jumpy over non-issue, but he decides to give the pretty boy a hard time anyway.

 

“Where’s your invite?” he asks, holding his hand out.

 

“Uh…” the boy pats his pockets. “I… it was just here, maybe…”

 

He couldn’t have gotten onto the grounds without the invite – Kibum’s instructions to his men on that front had been strict – so it doesn’t matter that he’s lost it now, but it just leaves him at Kibum’s mercy. He’s thinking of asking for the drawing of himself as compensation.

 

“You can’t be in there without an invite.”

 

“I…um…I…” pretty boy stumbles over his words. “I had it, I promise. I didn’t sneak in or anything.”

 

“I guess I could let you go with a fine.”

 

“I don’t have any money.”

 

Kibum knows; he can see it in the patched and faded clothes the boy wears. “Well, aren’t we in a right pickle? What can you offer me in compensation, then?”

 

“Umm…” the boy thinks for a while before speaking. “A kiss?”

 

For a moment, Kibum is dumbfounded. Then he laughs, bending over double and guffawing like he hasn’t since Minho announced this stupid party.

 

The boy looks affronted. “Lots of people want to kiss me, you know,” he sniffs. “And I don’t let them.”

 

“Lucky me,” Kibum teases.

 

The boy blushes and Kibum decides that a kiss from this pretty little thing might just be more valuable than a half-finished drawing. “Alright then, Romeo. Convince me that I should overlook your trespass.”

 

The boy steps closer, almost shyly, eyes closed, and presses his pillowy lips against Kibum’s. It’s the briefest of kisses.

 

“Mmm,” Kibum says, running a thumb over his lips. “You call that kissing? Little boy, let me show you how it’s done.”

 

“I’m not a little boy,” the boy protests, but he leans forward anyway, not at all bothering to conceal the eagerness in his movement. Perhaps tonight might not be a total loss after all, Kibum thinks, although Minho will be completely insufferable if he does get laid.

 

“My name is Taemin,” the boy says in between kisses. Kibum leans him against the cherry blossom tree before diving in to taste his lips once more. Taemin runs his hands over Kibum’s shoulders, moaning into the kiss without the slightest sense of shame.

 

Over in the background, Kibum can hear excited screaming. That pompous arsehole Jinx must have taken to the stage. If he weren’t so distracted by the sweet taste of Taemin’s kisses, Kibum would have realised that the screams he was hearing weren’t the screams of an excited crowd, but a scared one. It is only when he hears the heavy thump of falling things – like tables – and the sound of a hundred feet running at once that Kibum suddenly realises that something is wrong.

 

Minho.

 

Without a single backward glance, Kibum runs away from the gardens and towards the dais.

 

All around him, chaos reigns. There are guards running around; men, women and children running around, all of them directionless and incapable of rational thought. A couple of torches have fallen and started burning, but no one has yet had the sense to put them out.

 

He should never have left Minho.

 

Finally, he comes to the dais.

 

That dark-haired man is on it, holding a gun to his beloved Minho’s head. He has a loudspeaker and is screaming into it, but whatever he’s saying is lost in the din created by the panicked crowd.

 

Kibum approaches the dais carefully.

 

Jinx, to his credit, has stayed behind even though the rest of his entourage has run off.

 

The moment the dark-haired man sees him, he presses the gun closer to Minho’s head. Kibum puts his hands up in as a sign of submission, but he’s sure that the man can read murder in his eyes.

 

Up close, he can make out what the man is saying. “We’re not here to hurt anyone,” he says, contrary to the weapon he’s got aimed at Minho. “We’re just asking, nicely, that the royalty that fucked up this country do the gracious thing and abdicate, and let the people rule themselves.”

 

At the word abdicate, Minho stiffens.

 

Kibum cannot believe his stupidity. I am here, he wants to yell to his brain-dead prince, just give in to whatever he wants and I’ll kill him for you later on.

 

“What say you,” Jonghyun asks Minho. “We will rule this country one way or another, your only choice here is whether you get to live to see Greater Baekje blossom anew.”

 

“Say yes!” Kibum screams then. “Abdicate, you fucking idiot!”

 

Betrayal clouds Minho’s fair face, but he sits up straighter. “No.”

 

“NO!” Kibum screams again, running, but it is too late. He sees it all; the man’s finger squeeze the trigger, the recoil of the gun as it fires, and finally, the red that spatters over Minho’s white cape.

 

Minho slumps over, dead, just as Kibum reaches him. The man looks up at Kibum with wide, shocked eyes, as if he cannot believe that he just killed a person. Kibum’s gun is out – he drew it much earlier – but he lets it fall from his fingers. The man drops his gun too. They stand there and stare at each other, each in disbelief. 

 

Minho, my Minho, Kibum thinks.

 

It is when the man breaks his gaze and looks away that Kibum’s blood starts flowing again. Grabbing the knife that he had intended to use on Taemin, Kibum charges at the man and pins him against the floor of the dais.

 

They struggle there – the man must have a knife of his own too, because he keeps reaching for his boot – but finally Kibum pins him down and stabs the knife through his right wrist. As the man screams in agony, Kibum stabs through his left wrist too. With his arms incapacitated, the man can only watch as Kibum drags the knife across his throat, spilling his blood the way he spilled Minho’s.

 

Kibum watches the life drain out of the man’s eyes.

 

When he’s sure that the man is dead, he stands up. Jinx is still in his seat, frozen.

 

Kibum doesn’t care.

 

Minho is dead.

 

His Minho, his silly, naïve Minho who needs Kibum to protect him always because he knows nothing about the darkness of man’s heart, is dead.

 

Kibum has nothing left.


	5. Artist

 

**Taemin**

 

Everything is on fire.

 

People are screaming, running, looting.

 

He watches what little he can from his safe perch within the upper branches of the cherry blossom tree, clutching his notebook to his chest. He should probably be trying to find a way out of the castle before the fires spread to the gardens, but he will have to brave what must be an angry mob to get to the exit. His chances of getting out unscathed seem slim.

 

Chances of him getting out with his notebook and pencils intact are non-existent.

 

He’s better off up here.

 

Suddenly, something grabs his leg and pulls.

 

Taemin tumbles out of the tree; it is only instinct that makes his fingers tighten around the notebook so that he doesn’t get separated from it.

 

He lands on the ground hard and curls into a ball, again on instinct, but it makes whoever pulled him down think that he’s trying to hide something.

 

“Give it up,” the man’s gruff voice demands.

 

In the back of Taemin’s mind, he knows he should probably get up and explain to the man that he has very little money and nothing else of worth. But he does have something valuable, extremely so; his drawings.

 

So Taemin curls into a tighter ball, wrapping his entire body protectively around his notebook. When his hands fail to uncurl Taemin, the man starts kicking him, yelling profanities. Taemin doesn’t hear most of them; the pain is blinding, and what little consciousness he has left is focused on keeping his treasure safe.

 

The kicking stops.

 

Hands again, and Taemin readies himself to stand up and run, but then he hears a familiar voice.

 

“Taemin, hey, can you hear me?”

 

The last time he’d heard it, there had been more bite, more life in it, but it’s unmistakable nevertheless.

 

Taemin rolls over to see Kibum crouched over him. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Taemin answers.

 

He’s safe and his drawings are safe, what’s a few aches and pains in comparison to that?

 

“Come on, we need to get out of here.”

 

“What happened?”

 

A shadow passes over Kibum’s face, and he looks like he’s aged ten years. “Let’s just focus on getting out for now.”

 

It occurs to Taemin then that if Kibum could have gotten out earlier if he wanted to, without passing through the gardens. Kibum came back for him.

 

“The exits are a mess,” Kibum is saying. “I’ll give you a boost over the walls, and you’re scrawny as shit, but if you can give me a hand up-”

 

“The banyan tree.” He drew it earlier. The tallest tree in the garden, the only one to grow taller than the castle’s walls. “If we climb the banyan tree, we can climb over the walls and get out.”

 

“Good thinking.” The praise makes Taemin’s heart skip a beat, and he sticks close to Kibum’s side. Something about the commander, his aura perhaps, makes the mad crowd part before him. And Taemin’s lucky enough to be caught in the wake of this magnificent, crowd-parting aura just because he offered the man a kiss earlier.

 

And Taemin can’t believe just how far his luck extends when they climb over the walls easy-peasy. No one stops them. No one sees them. No one cares.

 

Outside of the walls, Taemin’s rescuer looks smaller. Lost.

 

“Where do we go now?” Taemin asks him, and Kibum shrugs.

 

“You know better than me,” he answers.

 

So Taemin takes him home. Kibum follows, quietly. There are many times Taemin expects him to say something; when they leave the city centre, when they reach Taemin’s village, when they get to his house, but Kibum stays silent through it all.

 

Taemin isn’t stupid. He had observed the way Kibum stood steadfast at Prince Minho’s side upon the dais; the only reason Kibum is with him now and not with the Prince is that the Prince is dead. If the Prince were alive, Kibum wouldn’t have spared Taemin a single thought.

 

Yet, despite knowing this, as soon as they’re both in the house and the door is safely locked behind them, Taemin pushes Kibum against the wall and presses desperate kisses against his soot-stained lips.

 

It takes only a heartbeat for Kibum to respond, for him to reverse their positions and pin Taemin to the wall. They fuck right there; Taemin’s back is already sore from the kicking he received earlier, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Kibum is pressing into all of the right places inside him.

 

When Taemin wakes up, it is with the warmth of another human being pressed against his side.

 

It takes him a beat to remember Kibum.

 

And last night.

 

And drawings and cherry blossoms and fire.

 

As he loses himself in thought, Kibum stirs. Will he talk today, Taemin wonders. Or will he be quietly sad like he was yesterday night? Taemin doesn’t mind, either way. 

 

“Hey, pretty,” Kibum says, voice gruff with sleep.

 

“Hey,” Taemin responds, suddenly unsure of himself. What is one supposed to say to a former commander of a violently overthrown monarchy?

 

Kibum throws an arm around him and pulls him closer; Taemin bites back a sound of pain when the man’s hand comes into contact with bruised skin. Kibum’s brows furrow.

 

“Could have been worse,” Taemin says then. “Probably would have been worse, if you didn’t come along when you did.”

 

“You were protecting your notebook.”

 

“My drawings.”

 

Kibum snickers. Taemin bristles at that, disappointed, but then Kibum says “You know, I wanted to ask you for that drawing of me that you had in there. But you offered me a kiss.”

 

“I can paint you now if you want.” The words are out of Taemin’s mouth before they even register in his mind. He’s not satisfied with one half-finished sketch of Kibum; the quirk of his lips and the sharp edges of his face are calling out to him, asking him to capture them in paint.

 

“Sure,” Kibum agrees.

 

So Taemin takes him up to the attic, lets him see the canvasses littering the small, sun-lit room. Lets him see the flowers and koi and people he’s captured with strokes of his brush, each a fleeting memory distilled into something immortal.

 

Kibum stops in front of one of his older pieces; of a boat at sea. Taemin had drawn that on holiday, a long time ago.

 

“I’ve never seen the ocean before,” Kibum says. “Is it really as beautiful as you painted it?”

 

“A thousand times more,” Taemin replies, thinking of stormy green waves and white-whipped foam; of crystal blue depths glittering under the sun. “We’ll go there, if you want. But I'll need compensation.”

 

"Taemin, I... I don't know if... after what happened yesterday, I’m not even sure I can leave the country... if I can pay you, I will, but I… I might not be able to."

 

He looks so flustered that Taemin almost feels bad for his little joke. Almost.

 

Instead, he leans in and taps his lips. "You can pay me in kisses. As many as I want, between here and the sea."

 

Kibum smiles. "I think that can be arranged."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> well, that's it for this fic. i've cross-posted it at aff as well. 
> 
>  
> 
> please leave a comment and tell me what you thought of it. it's not a style i've tried before, and some feedback would be nice.


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